


Metaphorical Trees

by adeepeningdig



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic, Future Fic, M/M, cop stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-14 00:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12995874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adeepeningdig/pseuds/adeepeningdig
Summary: “I love you,” Stiles says.“Yeah, ok,” Derek answers, “but could you get in the car? You’re letting the rain in.”





	Metaphorical Trees

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GobsmackApplejack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GobsmackApplejack/gifts).



> For Gobsmackedapplejack, who wanted domestic Sterek.
> 
> I'm sorry this is over a year late and less than 5,000 words. I do hope you like it. Thank you so much for bidding on me and donating to Campaign Zero.

Stiles knows that his parents loved each other very much- it is evident in the wedding ring his father still wears, years after his mother’s death- but sometimes he wishes his dad was a bit more of a romantic soul than he is, if only to give Stiles a framework for understanding this whole love thing. His dad,as far as Stiles can remember, only bought his mother flowers once, and she was in the hospital then. He wasn’t big on jewelry- and neither was she. They never went farther than Yellowstone for family vacations, and Stiles doubts his parents saw the inside of a hotel room more than four times over the entire duration of their marriage. 

It’s frustrating. When Stiles falls in love with Lydia, it’s all encompassing. He’s swallowed by it. He wants to give her a gift that is a gesture as wide and as overwhelming as his own feelings, but he doesn’t know of anything big enough to fit. 

He can’t ask Scott, because Scott is as much as a loser as he is in the romance department, and he definitely can’t ask his dad, thus coming to the end of the very short list of people who tolerate him. 

He asks Melissa instead. 

“So you’re in love with Lydia Martin?” Melissa smiles as she bend to pick up Scott’s muddy shirt off the floor. 

“Have you seen Lydia Martin?” Stiles retorts, kicking idly at Scott’s desk as he twirls himself around on the office chair that, like most things in the McCall household, is a little worse for wear. “She’s beautiful, brilliant and perfect; and she doesn’t know I exist. Help me woo her, Melissa. You’re my only hope.” 

Melissa sighs. “Stiles-” she starts.

“Oh, come on, you know I can’t ask my dad about these things. He’s a romantic disaster. You missed a sock under the bed, by the way.” Stiles points to the lone sock, half hidden under the tennis racket that he and Scott may or may not have been using to launch sticky frogs at the ceiling. He likes being helpful, if he can. 

Melissa groans as she bends down to grab the sock. “Jesus, that son of mine,” she mutters. “Listen,” she says, sitting down on the bed and placing the laundry basket beside her with a huff. “I’m going to give you some advice that you are one hundred percent going to dismiss right now, because you are a teenager, but it’s the truth-” Stiles snorts. “Fuck romance,” Melissa says.

“Excuse me?” 

“Romance and love have almost nothing to do with each other. You want to romance her? You want to do something big? Write her a poem. But that’s not love. Love is in the little things.”

“Um-” Stiles says. Little and Lydia are antithetical to each other. Lydia is the Queen Bee. She’s the sharpest, the prettiest and one of the richest girls in Beacon Hills. There are no little things when it comes to Lydia. “Like what? What little things?”

Melissa sighs. “The little things- like, give her a jacket when she’s cold, buy her coffee when she’s tired, listen to her- that’s the most vital part, just- listen to her.”

“Okay….” Stiles says. “That’s um-” That does not solve his problem one bit. Of course he listens to Lydia. He knows all her outfits, exactly how she drinks her coffee, and what perfume she wears. He knows that her nails always match her shoes, and that she’s the smartest person in whatever room she’s in. “Thanks, Scott’s mom. That was really helpful.” 

It’s a disaster. Stiles buys Lydia a tv so big it doesn’t fit through the door. It does not, amazingly enough, win him her love. 

_________________________________________________________________________________

Derek comes back into town the fall after Stiles finishes the academy. He’s wearing that same leather jacket that he wore the first time Stiles met him when Stiles catches a glimpse of him coming out of the grocery store on Pine. 

“Derek, hey!” Stiles calls.

Derek turns, face blank until his eyes settle on Stiles. 

“Hey,” Derek says, stepping into Stiles’s space and smiling, all scruff and cologne and warm eyes. Stiles’s heart gives a tiny lurch.

“Hey,” Stiles replies, giving a little wave. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”

“Yeah, I’ve got some stuff to take care of; my family’s estate and things like that. You know how it is.”

Stiles does not know how it is, but he’s not heartless enough to point that out. “Sure,” he says. “I know how that is.”

“No you don’t.” 

“No I don’t.” 

Derek half smiles again, and hoists his paper bag of groceries higher in hip. His gaze runs the length of Stiles’s body and then back up again. 

“I, uh- I should get this stuff home before my milk goes bad,” he says, “but we should catch up. Coffee?”

“Yeah- yes. Coffee would be great. You still have my number?” 

“Of course.” Derek grins, and starts to turn away towards his car presumably. “I’ll see you around, kay?” 

Stiles watches him walk away. “See you around,” he replies faintly. Derek ducks his head, turns the corner, and disappears. 

They fall into bed, easy. There’s some flirting over coffee and some more flirting over beer, and then Derek is leaning close to whisper in Stiles’s ear. “Come home with me,” he says, so Stiles does. 

Then somehow Stiles finds himself in Derek Hale’s bed. He comes to know the scent of Derek’s sweat, the slide of his hands across his naked body, the choked off gasp he makes when he comes. Stiles knows the books Derek is reading, the way he takes his coffee, and folds his clothes. He knows the shampoo he uses and the scentless dish soap he stocks.

He does not know how long Derek will be in town, or what the “family stuff” he has to do entails. 

A month passes and then another. Stiles has graduated from babysitting the front desk to doing ride alongs with Mary Wilson, the only cop at the station who is not old enough to have known Stiles when he was growing up. They do not like each other. 

Derek listens to Stiles bitch about Mary as they lay in bed, not worn out enough to doze, but unsure whether they have energy for round two or not. He listens to Stiles bitch about Scott not listening to him bitch about Mary while they’re binging Curb Your Enthusiasm one rainy, nasty Sunday. He doesn’t give advice, he doesn’t talk about his own experiences, he listens. 

And when, finally, they end up at Stiles’s place instead of Derek’s, Derek rises and on bare feet, makes a circuit.. He runs his hands over Stiles’s bookshelves, his baseball trophies, the photo of his mom hanging on the living room wall. He goes into the kitchen and makes coffee, opening all the cabinets until he finds the mugs. 

“Hey-” Stiles says, and he wants to object, except for how he doesn’t want to object. Now Derek’s scent is on everything the way Stiles’s scent is all over Derek’s apartment.

He moves in Stiles’s space like he belongs there, and Stiles can’t help but wonder if this is how he himself is in Derek’s house. Does Derek watch him move, like Stiles watches Derek move- through slitted eyes- hazy and sated and warm. Does he love watching him- the grace of his movement? Derek is comfortable, unworried, himself, and Stiles is content.

So Stiles says, finally,“So what is this family stuff you have to take care of anyway?”

And Derek, holding two cups of coffee, one black, for himself, and the other with milk and sugar for Stiles, smiles. 

Scott says, “Dude, you seem so happy lately, what’s up?”

Lydia says, “So this is what Stiles is like when he’s getting laid on the regular. I like it.”

Stiles’s Dad says, “So, am I going to meet this guy, or what?”

Mary says, as she reaches over to turn on the sirens that Stiles should have turned on a second earlier, “Keep your head in the game, daddy’s boy.”

It turns out that Derek’s tearing down the loft building and building a park. He’s buying off the condos built on his family land one by one. He’s talking to the municipality and he’s talking to the people in the archives. He wants to see the plans his mother had for the the town back when she was a councilwoman. He’s putting down roots. 

“I’m planting trees,” he tell Stiles one evening. They’re on Derek’s couch, eating pizza and watching The Good Place. 

“Metaphorical trees,” Stiles says. 

“And real ones.”

“And real ones,” Stiles repeats, and shoves his bare feet under Derek’s thighs. 

Stiles can navigate Beacon HIlls in his sleep. He always knew the town, but now he knows even the dark corners, the underpasses, the empty lots, the suburban houses with manicured lawns and battered wives. The kids who smoke pot, drink vodka, take ecstasy. The ones he has to save before the opioids get to them. 

He wants to tell them that the monsters they’re fighting aren’t the real monsters. There are real monsters in the woods and they have claws and teeth and malicious intent. But he knows that is a lie. Whatever these kids are fighting is real- as real as werewolves, and he doesn’t know how to save them. It is their lives that are filled with malicious intent- parents and brothers and teachers and friends and whole systems that have failed them through neglect or sheer indifference. Stiles is only one cop and he can barely save himself. 

And anyways, he’s got his own monster waiting for him at home, with claws and teeth, and eyes that glow in the dark, but light up with affection when they fall on him. His monster laughs in bed and curls his toes in abandon. He draws his dangerous hands, gentle, up Stiles’s sides, and nips at his ears, and kisses his forehead. 

So he takes the kids to Derek, remembering Boyd and Erica and Isaac, and he says, “Derek, can you teach them to plant trees?”

And Derek, he looks at Katie,and Brian and Mia and Nizam, all in varied states of practiced boredom, and says, “sure.” But in private, later, he says, “why didn’t you take them to Scott? He’ll never turn anyone away. You know that.” 

Derek has not been an Alpha for years and years. 

Stiles says, “those kids don’t need to be werewolves. They just need someone to give them some direction.” 

Derek rolls his eyes. “Sure,” he says, “I’m the perfect role model.” He raises himself up on his elbow to look at Stiles in the face. “The system is fucked up, Stiles,” he says. “If we don’t tear out the rot from the foundations it’s all just going to collapse, no matter how many kids we help.”

Stiles pushes Derek back down. He straddles his waist and gazes down at him. “What are you going to do, oh big bad disruptor? You going to burn the school down? Beat-up some pathetic parents?”

“Stiles,” Derek sighs.

“No, listen,” Stiles says, “Melissa once told me that it’s the little things that are really the big things. I mean, she didn’t quite say it like that, and the context was totally different,” he waves his hand in dismissal, “but you know what I mean. You want to disrupt the system? Give a kid some direction.”

Derek closes his eyes. 

“You might not save the kid, but you might save him a little. And that’s enough.” 

“You’re a little shit, you know that?” Derek’s’ not smiling, but his lips twitch in a curve. 

“I know,” Stiles says, and leans down to meet his kiss. 

“So are you going to tell us not to do drugs?” Mia pouts. Stiles is supervising the first meeting between Derek and the kids in the little office at the station that has been converted into a conference room of sorts. The truth is, that they don’t really need supervising- Derek holds the room with body language alone, his arms crossed across his chest, but his stance relaxed- but technically, the kids have been sentenced to community service and Stiles should be around as an official police presence. Also, he really wants to see a bunch of kids try and take Derek on.

“No,” Derek answers. “That’s what Officer Stillinski is for-I’m here because I want you to help me build a park.”

Mia rolls her eyes. “Whatever,” she says. 

“This is a giant fucking waste of time,” Brian cuts in. 

“Why? Derek says

“Why, what?”

“Why is it a waste of your time?”

“I’ve got better things to do, ok?”

“Like what?”

“Homework,” Brian juts out his chin.

“Please,” Derek rolls his eyes. “I’m not an idiot. It’s Saturday.”

Katie starts to laugh and Brian shoots her a glare, sinking lower in his chair and crossing his arms across his chest. “I could be sleeping,” he mutters.

“It’s 1 in the afternoon,” Derek retorts. “Come on,” he claps, making the kids jump a little, “look alive.”

“Why are you building a park?” Nizam, amazingly, raises his hand before he speaks.  
“Because I want to, and I can,” Derek says.

“You don’t think it’s a waste of money?” Mia asks. 

“No,” Derek says. 

Then Katie says as if out of nowhere, “The park is a gift.”

Now Derek is grinning and Stiles himself can’t help but grin. “Yes, the park is a gift. It’s a gift to the town and the community.”

“But why a park? Why not like a museum or something?”

“Well, I grew up near the Preserve, so I really like trees and nature, and it makes me happy to have green spot in the city.”

“Ok,” Katie says, and frowns. 

“So,” Derek claps his hands together. “Are we gonna build a park?”

 

“Why didn’t you come to me?” Scott asks. They’re watching the kids literally plant trees in the spot where the loft once stood. The park is being dedicated in memory of Derek’s parents, and the pack’s all there along with the mayor, the head of the business bureau, and Stiles’s father in his official capacity as Sheriff. 

Derek is kneeling on the ground next to Katie, his hands covered in black dirt. It’s drizzling slightly, which has made for a small turnout, but Derek doesn’t seem to mind. His head is bowed over his work, and he seems to Stiles for a minute to be like a saint or an apostle in one of those Renaissance paintings he once saw in New York. He seems to be in prayer, touched by the light of the rain, as nonsensical as that seems. 

“Those kids don’t need to be werewolves,” Stiles tells Scott. “They just need to be directed.”

“I wouldn’t turn anyone who doesn’t want to be, Stiles,” Scott says angrily. “I can’t believe you would think that of me.”

“No, Scotty.” Stiles shakes his head, “that’s not what I meant. I meant that they don’t need to know about werewolves. Their lives are crazy enough. They don’t need the drama.”

“That’s not-” Scott frowns. 

Then Derek is there, hands covered in dirt, and smiling. He leans down and kisses Stiles softly. “Hello,” he mutters against Stiles’s lips. “You’re here.”

“Of course,” Stiles says. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

Scott clears his throat. “This is a development,” he says, raising his eyebrows.

“Not really,” Derek says. “It’s been going on for a while. You haven’t told Scott?”

“I don’t tell Scott everything.”

“Apparently,” Scott says. “Apparently you don’t.”

“Huh,” Derek says, and Stiles knows they’ll be talking about this later. “Did you tell your dad?” 

“No.”

“Huh.” Derek says again. 

Then, as if summoned, Stiles’s dad is making his way across the lot towards them. 

“Derek,” Stiles’s dad says, clapping him on the shoulder. “This was very nice. Your parents would be proud, son.”

“Thanks,” Derek says, and he ducks his head. 

“Uh, Dad,” Stiles says. He might as well get it over with. “Remember how you asked to meet the guy I was seeing? Well, this is the guy I’ve been seeing.” He guesstures to Derek elaborately. 

Stiles’s dad takes a step back. “Derek? You’ve been seeing Derek?”

“Yes. Yeah. I’ve been seeing Derek.”

Derek’s eyes dart to meet Stiles’s. “Sir-” he says.

But Stiles’s Dad is grinning. “Well isn’t that the best news I’ve had all week,” he says, and Stiles can’t help but gape.

“What?” he says.

“You were so secretive about it. I thought you were seeing Billy Travers or something.” Billy Travers is and always has been Beacon Hills’s primary weed dealer.

“Dad!” Stiles exclaims. “I can’t believe - Why would I be dating Billy? He’s a white guy with dreadlocks and he reeks of weed.”

“I don’t know why you would be dating Billy,” his father retorts, “but you were being so squirrely. What else was I supposed to think?”

“Ok,” Stiles says, “but we’re clearing this up now. I am not dating Billy Travers. I am dating Derek Hale. Derek meet my dad. Dad meet Derek.”

Derek rolls his eyes, but holds his hand out for the Sheriff to shake. 

“Son,” the Sheriff says, “I am so glad it’s you.”

Derek’s ears turn pink. “I’m glad it’s me too.” 

 

“I wasn’t trying to hide you,” Stiles tells Derek at dinner later that night. 

“Ok,” Derek says. 

“I just-I wanted to have you to myself for a little bit. It was nice.” 

Derek puts down his wine glass. “I’m not- I’m not going anywhere. Just because they know- I’m not going to run.”

“I didn’t think you were going to run. You’re the one who kissed me in public” Stiles replies. “That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

“The point is that now my Dad is going to want to have dinner with us like twice a week, and Lydia is going to drag us on couples’ retreats and Scott is going to want to go on double dates with him and Kira.”

“Is that so bad?”

“Have you been around Scott and Kira lately?”

“Fair point,” Derek acquiesces. “Still, dinner with your dad wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

“You think that now,” Stiles says, “just wait until he tries to give you the Dad Talk.”

“Oh god,” Derek groans.

“Oh god, is right,” Stiles agrees. 

And later still, Stiles says, “Scott was upset at me because he thought I was implying that he would turn kids against their will, or at least without their explicit consent. He was insulted.”

“Ok?” Derek frowns, the bed sheets rustling as he turns over to face Stiles. 

“But he did- he bit Liam without asking him first. Scott did that.”

“That was a bit of an extreme situation, don’t you think?”

“Sure. But Liam still didn’t have a choice. You would never do that”

“Really? I’m not sure that’s true. I asked Boyd and Erica and Isaac, but I didn’t really tell them the truth of the situation. I’m not sure that’s any better. In fact, I think it might be worse.”

Stiles shakes his head. “No,” he says. “It’s not. Not having a choice, it’s worse. I know that,” he whispers, and Derek takes his hand, “and you know that too.”

Derek strokes his cheek. “I do know that,” he says. “I do.” Then he says, “I almost didn’t ask them. Mostly, it was fear that my mother would rise up from the dead and murder me if I didn’t.”

Stiles laughs. “You had a good education.”

“You’re right, I did. And you’re right, I wouldn’t do that.”

“I know,” Stiles says. “I think that’s why I always trusted you.”

Derek is quiet. He pulls Stiles into his embrace. “Thank you,” he mutters.

“For what?”

“For today. It really meant a lot to me.” 

“Der,” Stiles says, “you did this all your own. You don’t need to thank me for anything.”

Derek shakes his head. “No,” he says softly, “thank you for the kids. That’s exactly the sort of project my mother would have liked. The park was for me. Those kids are for my mother.”

Stiles doesn’t know how to reply, so he leans over and kisses Derek. Derek smiles and draws his arms around him tightly. “Stay the night?” he asks. 

Stiles stays the night.

 

It’s Mary’s fault he’s in the old sedan and not one of the newer ones, and it’s Mary’s fault he’s here alone, instead of with a partner, like he should be. He had been so eager to prove to her that it wasn’t nepotism that got him his job, that he was willing to do the dirty work just like everyone else. So when Mary says, “I’ve got a thing to do, you take the rest of this shift on your own”, Stiles doesn’t hesitate, even though it’s not strictly within guidelines. He can manage a few hours patrolling on his own.

Unfortunately, it seems he cannot manage a few hours. The old sedan stalls right smack dab in the middle of one of the narrow service roads that crisscross the Preserve. There’s no one around for miles and as Stiles pulls up the hood of the piece of junk car, it begins to rain. 

“Ah, fuck,” he says. He’s got a rudimentary understanding of car mechanics, but whatever is going on here is beyond him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He slams the hood shut and gets back into the car. He could radio in to the station, but then he’d have to explain what he’s doing out in the Preserve all by himself, and he really really doesn’t want to go to his Dad with this. It’s three in the morning, so he can’t Scott or Lydia. He calls Derek.

“Wha-” Derek answers. 

“Der?” he says, “this piece of crap car just died on me smack dab in the middle of the Preserve. Do you think you can come get me?”

“Yeah. Yes, I can. Let me just- I’m just going to grab my keys and I’ll be right there. Send me your coordinates.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate it. Mary ditched me, and it’s getting cold.”

“Mary ditched you? Stiles! Why did you let her get away with that. You know it’s not safe out there all by yourself.”

“Hey, she’s my superior officer, and she already hates me. I’m just doing what I have to do.”

“Stiles,” Derek sighs. 

“And I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” Stiles continues. “I’m a cop, Derek. What? Are you afraid the monsters are going to get me?”

“No, I am not afraid that monsters are going to get you, Stiles.” Stiles hears Derek’s car engine roar to life over the phone. “Just- just be careful. I’ll be there soon.”

“Fine,” Stiles says, and ends the call, tossing his phone onto the seat next to him. Jesus, Derek can be such an asshole sometimes. He should have just called his dad. 

He can’t wait to go home and into a hot shower and then into a warm bed. Maybe Derek will make him hot chocolate. 

Stiles sits up in his seat. It has suddenly occurred to him that when he was envisioning home, he was envisioning Derek’s place, which is alarming. And yet, once he starts thinking it, he can’t stop. Somehow, instead of imagining his own bed- his dark blue sheets and pillow- he has been imagining Derek’s. It is not his own kitchen he sees, the laminate floor, and over-used microwave, but Derek’s kitchen- all wood cabinets and cast iron pans on the hob. 

He doesn’t know when this happened, or how even. Nowadays they spend almost as much time at Stiles’s place as they do at Derek’s. 

Maybe, Stiles thinks, before his brain can start the downward spiral of anxiety that it is on the cusp of embarking on, maybe it is not so much that he thinks of Derek’s place as home, but rather, it is that he knows that Derek is currently at his own home and wherever Derek is, is home. Not that that’s a smaller thought to comprehend. Thanks a lot brain.

Rain lashes at his windshield, as the storm kicks into high gear. It’s not a bad thing to think of Derek as home. It’s just- it’s just big. That’s all. It’s such a small thing, that it’s big.

The sound of a car accelerating down the road interrupts his thoughts. It could be no one but Derek. The Camaro starts to slow and so Stiles gets out of the car, turning the flashlight on his phone on to illuminate his face, so that Derek can see him there on the side of the road.

He pulls to a stop, and Stiles leans over to open the passenger side door. 

Derek looks sleep-rumpled and ornery, his face cut to planes by the play of dashboard lights against it. He hadn’t even changed out of his pajamas- just slipped on a jacket and some shoes.

“I love you,” Stiles says.

“Yeah, ok,” Derek answers, “but could you get in the car? You’re letting the rain in.”

Stiles gets into the car. Derek leans over and angles the vent so the heat is directly aimed at Stiles. 

“Thank you,” Stiles says, teeth chattering. 

“You’re welcome,” Derek answers gruffly. “I cannot believe Mary made you do your shift on your own. That’s gotta be against guidelines. I’m sure of it. I’m going to kill her.”

“It wasn’t the whole shift, Der. Chill out. It would have been just fine had the stupid sedan not kicked the bucket.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Derek-” Stiles sighs, and takes his hand. “That’s enough. Come on.”

Derek glances as him. “I’m just- I worry about you, and I’m mad for you. She shouldn’t get away with this.”

“I know,” Stiles answers. “But I’m a big boy, and I can take care of myself. 

Derek lifts his hand, and presses it to his lips. “I know that.”

“Good.”

Five minutes into the drive, Derek pulls over onto the shoulder and rolls to a stop. 

“Derek- what-” Stiles says.

“You love me.” Derek interjects.

“Yes,” Stiles says, and it doesn’t seem so big anymore. It just is. 

“I love you, too,” Derek says. “You know that, right? I have loved you for a long time I think.”

“You have?”

“Yes. I just didn’t know it. But when you told me you trusted me, I realized- I knew that it was love. I had forgotten- I forgot how to know it, to know love.” He dips his head. “Now I remember.”

“I think-” Stiles isn’t sure about when he started to love Derek, “I think I have always trusted you. I trusted you from the beginning, even before I knew that I trusted you.”

“Ok,” Derek says, and starts the engine. “Let’s go home. My place or yours?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Stiles answers. Wherever Derek is is home. “But I want hot chocolate.”

Derek pulls back out onto the highway. “My place then. We’re out of cocoa at your place.”

Stiles smiles, and leans back against the headrest. Derek takes his hand and he falls into a doze. He sleeps, he dreams, all the way home.


End file.
